FOUR
Grace
I moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, the soft glow of candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. I’d chosen a playlist with just enough bass to feel it in your bones, but not so loud as to drown out conversation. It was perfect, or at least, I wanted it to be.
Checking the oven, I found the roast cooked to a succulent tenderness, its aroma promising a meal to remember. This dinner was my gambit. My way of showing Dillon that last night’s abrupt end wasn’t enough to scare me off.
A knock at the door jolted me from my internal thoughts. I smoothed down my dress—a deep red number that clung to every curve and highlighted my smooth brown skin. I strode to the door and pulled it open after doing one last check in the hallway mirror.
Dillon stood there, his tall frame imposing, eyes dark green pools you could fall into if you weren’t careful. “Gracie,” he said, his voice low and slightly rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence filling up the room.
“Sorry about last night,” he said, shutting the door behind him. His gaze flickered over the setup. The hint of surprise in his eyes was almost satisfying. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me after that.”
“Shows what you know,” I shot back, my tone light. I led him to the table, watching as he took in the spread. “Sit. Eat. You’ll need your strength.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, and I met his unflinching gaze. Finally, he cracked a grin, the kind that said he knew exactly what game we were playing and he was all in.
“Never pegged you for the domestic type,” he quipped, pulling out a chair with a scrape against the hardwood floor.
“Never pegged you for the type to stick around for more than one night,” I retorted, taking my seat across from him.
As we ate, the tension that had been coiled tight between us unwound, thread by thread. The clink of cutlery and the low hum of a bluesy track filled the space as we finished the last of our meal.
“Look, Dillon,” I started, setting my fork down with a deliberate clatter. “I’m not someone you need to handle with kid gloves. What happened at the club didn’t scare me off. I asked for this. And I’m not backing down now.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me like one of those old paintings of saints and sinners. “Grace, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Try me,” I said.
Dillon’s hand paused halfway to his mouth; a piece of tiramisu speared on his fork forgotten. “Being with me isn’t just late-night escapades and adrenaline highs. It’s danger. The kind that doesn’t knock before it enters your life and rips it apart.”
“Sounds like you’re the one who’s afraid,” I shot back, leaning forward so that our faces were inches apart, the table the only thing keeping us from collision. “Afraid that I might actually handle your world.”
“Damn right I’m afraid,” he admitted, raw and unfiltered. “Afraid for you. This isn’t some romance novel where the bad boy’s heart gets tamed by love, and everyone lives happily ever after.
Dillon’s eyes searched mine, looking for a crack in the fa?ade, a sign of hesitation. Finding none, something shifted within him, a decision made. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine, sending a current through me that was full of something more.
“Alright, Grace,” he said, voice low and steady as a pulse. “But remember, you asked for this. And when shit hits the fan—and it will—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, a smile lifting my lips.
“Are you sure?” His voice was rough with a tension that matched the tightness in my chest. “Because once you’re in, there’s no stepping back. My world doesn’t do half measures, sweetheart.”
“Neither do I,” I shot back, my heart beating with anticipation. And damn it, I was done with caution. I wanted him, wanted this and whatever twisted, reckless ride we were barreling toward.
I could see the restraint in his posture, the effort it took for him to hold himself still, as if he were a hair-trigger away from shattering the distance between us. It was intoxicating, knowing I had that effect on him, knowing we were both drawn to each other.
“So, what are you waiting for?” I challenged. In response, he gave a low chuckle, the sound wrapping around me like velvet laced with steel. But it was the shift in the air, the almost imperceptible lean forward, that told me I’d struck a chord.
“Fuck patience,” I muttered under my breath and closed the gap. My hands found the hard planes of his jaw as I pulled his face close to mine. The kiss was a collision, fierce and unapologetic.
Dillon responded with equal passion. His hands threaded through my hair. He anchored me tight to him as if he could consume any lingering doubts. Our mouths moved together with a desperation that spoke of things unsaid.
We broke apart, breathing hard, the space between us electric and alive. I saw the flicker in his eyes, that crack in his armor, and I knew then that I had him. That whatever walls he’d built, whatever lines he’d drawn, they were gone.
The weight of his gaze felt like a dare, and I took it. Without breaking eye contact, I stood in front of him, reached for the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper. Dillon’s eyes raked over me, raw hunger etched on his face.
“Fuck, Grace,” he rasped, the words torn from him.
“Less talking,” I said, stepping out of the heap of fabric at my feet.
Dillon closed the distance between us in two strides, his hands finding my waist and lifting me off the ground. The strength in his arms didn’t surprise me. The man was all hard edges and coiled power. His touch made me gasp as my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.
“Where to?” His voice was gravel-rough, vibrating against my chest.
“Bedroom,” I commanded, the need to feel more of him drowning out everything else. He moved quickly, carrying me down the hall to my bedroom. The door wasn’t even fully closed behind us before we were on each other again. Clothes became irrelevant obstacles that were quickly discarded, tossed carelessly aside as if they burned our fingers.
Once we were bare, Dillon laid me down with a reverence that contradicted the urgency of our undressing. His muscles rippled under my touch, each one tensing beneath my exploring hands. My fingers danced across the ink that adorned his skin, tracing the outlines of crosses and guns and other symbols that told stories of a life I was only beginning to understand.
“Fuck…” Dillon groaned, his voice strangled as I mapped the expanse of his chest, the valleys of his abs, the V that led to a promise of ecstasy.
“Like that?” I taunted, nails scraping ever so slightly down his sides, eliciting a hiss from his lips.
“More than you know,” he growled, capturing my wrists and pinning them above my head with one hand. His free hand blazed a trail of fire down my body, igniting sparks that threatened to explode into flames.
“Show me,” I challenged, arching into his touch, daring him to push me over the edge.
And he seemed more than happy to accept the challenge.
Dillon’s touch was a live wire against my skin, every caress sending shivers straight to my core. His fingers sketched the curves of my hips, dipped into the hollow of my waist, and traced the swell of my breasts.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped out, arching into him, craving more of that electric connection that sizzled wherever we touched.
After donning protection, he slid inside me slowly. His thickness made me mumble and groan in pleasure. It felt so good, and I never wanted this feeling to go away. Once he bottomed out, he hovered over me, staring into my eyes, before leaning down for a sensual kiss. There were moans, low and guttural. Whispers that were more breath than sound. All swirling in the thick air, heavy with our mingled desire.
Dillon’s thrusts grew harder, his grip tightening on my hips as he pumped into me. His movements were almost violent, mirroring the ferocity of our kisses, the pull of our tongues as we devoured each other’s mouths. Our bodies moved together like they’d been choreographed, a dance born from lust and the desperate need to feel more. I could taste him, and it was intoxicating. Like fire and salt and something wild. The scent of his skin was heady, mixing with the musky scent of arousal in the air, filling my senses and making me high off this intensity. The bed squeaked beneath us as we pushed against it, our moans echoing in the darkness.
With every movement, Dillon marked me. Biting my neck softly, licking the salty sweat from my skin. Rough hands trailing over my body possessively. Teeth dragging down my collarbone and then suckling softly at the mark he left behind. My nails dug into his back, clawing his skin as he picked up speed. It was primal and raw and so very real. This was no fairy tale ending, but a beginning.
Lying there after, with Dillon’s chest rising and falling against my back, I couldn’t help but smirk at the aftermath. My fingers traced the lines of his arm that caged me in, his breath a hot rhythm on my neck. We were a tangle of limbs, dark brown and lightly tanned, our skin still slick with the evidence of what we’d done.
“Shit,” I murmured, not bothering to keep the smug satisfaction from my voice. “I knew you had it in you, but that…that was something else.”
“Damn, Grace,” he rasped, voice raw.
“Never knew it could be like this,” I muttered, running my fingers through his damp hair. The taste of him lingered on my lips, a blend of sin and man that made me hungry for another round.
“Me neither,” he admitted, and there was a tremor in his voice as he shifted, his body still nestled closely against mine. “But I’m not giving it up anytime soon.”
Eventually, Dillon’s breathing evened out, and I felt the weight of his arm around me, possessive even in sleep.